Mistress of a New Age Innocence
by APinkBlackberry
Summary: I'm not a good person. I'm not a bad person either. But, I'm a person. And I've learned that the only way to get what you truly want is to misbehave. Deep down everyone wants to be punished; diminished to nothing, and I am the deliverer. A look into young Irene Adler's life and how she became exposed to the world of recreational scolding. (Teen!Lock)
1. Prologue

**My very first story. It's un-beta'd (if you're interested, let me know). Also, it's very ****_skeletal, _****by that meaning, there could be a lot more going on.**

**Anyway, let me know what you think. **

**Should I continue or not.**

A dark and rainy day in Derbyshire was nothing new. Standing on the balcony of Grand'Mere's study, you could see the puffy grey clouds consume the sky at an achingly slow pace. The acres of green meadow and forest that surrounded the ancient estate lost their glow the moment a soft clap of thunder roared in the distance.

It's been told that even on the most thunderous of days, Chatsworth House, the residence of the family for the past several decades, is still so very silent. No rain was to be heard hitting the roof or windows, no wind was heard rattling the walls, and no rustling of trees could be heard even outside the balcony nearest to the forest.

I often sat on the cold, white marble until a servant or governess came to find me. When I was younger, the uniformed women would fluster about, screaming my name, and dragging me back inside the large doors before a drop could hit my pale nose. They'd drape me in a clean towel or blanket and rub their hands up and down my forearms while mumbling some prayer or lecture. I would keep still and silently nod. They'd catch the vacancy in my eyes and I could almost see the pity flood their faces.

And to get them away, I'd mutter a few words of thanks, though it only ever sounded like I was choking on words. Sometimes they'd kiss my forehead and warn me not to go outside during a thunderstorm because of the threat of illness; and sometimes they'd just shake their head and lock the large French-style doors before leading me back to my room

As I grew older, their timing slowed, and soon, they just waited by the doors with the warmed cloth prepared to cover me as soon as I entered the room. The mumbling turned to whispers and the whispers turned to silence. But the pity did not fail to cross their expressions, though now it was more for my warring sanity. And with their act of obligatory comfort complete, they'd slowly leave the room.

By the time I was by myself again, the rain would already be beating at the window panes and darkness had overcome the library. A bolt of lightning would quickly light up the large room, reminding me of my surroundings. Shrugging off the cloth, I'd regain my composure and slowly make my way across the dark oak floor.

The light from the hallway, just beyond the library door, seemed blinding, as it was enhanced by the white manor walls and ceiling.

My room was in the west wing on the third and top floor, of the eighteenth century palace my Grand'Mere called a home. It was once my mother's room, and nothing has likely changed since the day she left. At the end of a long white hallway, with single doors leading to unused bedrooms, powder rooms, and various other rooms, two large detailed white doors, with golden handles, stood. Upon opening them, I would step inside, what could only have been a ballroom as a first purpose. A grand dark wood bed stood before me upon first sight. Deep blue woven linens and pillows complimented the nearly black frame. To the left, the ominous darkness of rainclouds could be seen through the wall of glass window pane. On the rare sunny day, light would stream in, kissing every surface in its reach and erasing the misery that was strewn around the room. The Victorian wallpaper, a spectacularly embossed navy blue design, would almost seem magical.

But it was not one of those days. Today was a day that was mirrored by the torrential downpour outside. It was thirteenth anniversary of my parents' death. An unholy anniversary that reminded me of my status as an orphan and my grandmother's perpetually broken heart.

At four years old, I lost my parents to a bombing of a hotel in Gaza. They are two people I can vaguely recall their appearance by memory, but still feel the burning sensation of my mother's soft pink lips on my forehead and my father's strong arms wound around my body. I couldn't describe their voices, nor even their personalities. But I could sing you the lullaby my mother sang to me every night before I went to sleep, or copy my father's graceful signature from the postcards they'd send me.

On anniversaries of deaths, people ought to be sad and mourn the loss of those they loved. But I'm not sad or mourning. Since that fateful June day, this manor has been in an eternal state of mourning. If anything, I am sick and numb. My entire life has been filled with private tutors, governesses, therapists, and servants. Upon first glance, it seems such a privileged life, but all things come with a price.

The price I paid, I was not loved. No, I did not have a governess who saw me as her own child nor friendly wait-staff that allowed me to play around. My life has been filled with sympathetic glances, heartlessly fulfilled requests, and strict guidelines. Since my parents' passing, Grand'Mere and I only see each other during dinner, during which no one speaks. She'll sit in various rooms around the manor, staring out the window with the same vacant stare that hasn't changed in over a decade.

Six years ago, I learned to escape the dread, at least momentarily, by taking up horse riding and dressage. There had always been an active horse stable on the property for various reasons. Security would ride around the property, guests would use them for afternoons around the vast property, and the occasional polo match or hunting game would occupy the estate.

I became enticed immediately. There were so many reasons I fell in love with the sport, the freedom, the agility, the excitement, but mainly the control I exercised over another living being. It was so thrilling. To receive an immediate raw and honest response to my command made me feel alive. This large beast gave into the sharp pain of cool leather directed from the hand of a young girl.

It was a thought so complex and yet so simple that I could not help but entertain in the back of my mind.

**I'd really love to hear back from you all who actually read it.**


	2. The Peeking

**Well this happened fast. I didn't realize it would get this graphic this fast. But it just kind of happened.**

**Let me know what you think. **

**This is how I felt Irene was first exposed and became aware of her sexuality.**

My seventeenth year of life was one that would direct the course of my life down a path which I could not foresee.

Having been privately tutored at the estate for my entire life, I'd never attended school with other children. But, it was my sixth year and Grand'Mere was sending me to Saint Mary Margaret Constance All-Girl's Boarding School. Also, the property was about to go some dramatic reconstruction and it would not be a suitable place to maintain a proper education.

To be honest, I was glad to finally be off the miserable grounds for reasons other than holidays or day-long trips to London.

Granted, I was living amongst other girls, required to wear a uniform, and tied to strict boundaries, but I was away from dread manor.

Now, I wasn't a complete social misery, as you may think. No, I had in fact socialized plenty by this point in time amongst all types of men, women, and young adults who had come in and out of the estate on holidays. And every spring, I'd visit with my two cousins, Katherine and Anthea, in France.

I had observed people enough to know that I didn't like them. Everyone attempting to overpower one another, it was unpleasant and sad. Because as much as people wanted to dominate each other, deep down what they really want is to be dominated.

Grand'Mere had secured a single-bed dormitory for me, and I was thankful for that consideration. The dormitory, itself, was nearly an eighth of my room at the manor, and contained nothing but a small bed, wooden desk set, armoire, few bookshelves, a square closet, and small bathroom. But the large window, which let the early autumn light stream in, let me know that I'd be fine.

As families happily assisted their daughters in moving into their dormitory halls, I decided to stroll around campus. The blooming autumn in Buckinghamshire was no different than back at Devlinshire. It was warm and cool simultaneously. The sun beat down on your face, but a crisp breeze nipped at your cheeks. Looking up into the trees along the clear pathways, the beginnings of yellow, orange, and red hues began to sit amongst the leaves.

Passing the athletic fields, my eyes were delighted to see one of the largest and most posh stables being loaded with feed, hay and other equipment. As I looked at the area surrounding the stable, obstacles were being set up and some of the most magnificent horses I'd ever seen were being led around . And for a moment, I'd truly felt at home.

It was truly the beginning of change.

"Miss Adler, if you are going to continue to misbehave, remove yourself from my classroom immediately."

"If you insist." I gritted through strong white teeth. My eyes never broke contact with my condemner as I glided my seat across the tile floor of the room. I was vaguely aware of the fourteen other pairs of mascara heavy eyes staring in shock with their painted lips open agape at my retort. Only breaking eye contact upon opening the door, I strutted out of the room with my dignity intact.

Sister Alexandria must have mistaken my corrections to her inaccurate Shakespearean analyses series completely to offence.

_Juliet Capulet as a definitive role of female independence in literature? Please._

It was late the beginning of October, primetime for riding, and I was not going to waste a single minute of it.

Changing into my riding pants, boots, and a white button down, I let out a sigh of relief, feeling comfortable in this second skin. Avery, a bay thoroughbred, was saddled up properly and in the stalls. A sly smile crept upon my face as my long fingers smoothed over the new black leather riding crop I'd just received from Italy. It still needed to be broken in, but I had the rest of the day.

As Avery and I trotted around the course, I noticed the parade of Bentleys and Mercedes rolling up the main drive. Every Friday, the sixth years of Brother Brice, an equally posh all-boys boarding school, drove up to woo the feeble girls I call classmates. At first it completely sickened me, the thought of these intelligent and strong young women melting into a puddle of desperation and vulnerability at the sight of a pubescent male in their father's car. Women turning into girls at the wink of a man was a But after much reflection and thought, I came to the conclusion that this transformation and attraction had to do with love, an emotion I knew nothing about.

Sunset came and I took Avery to the stables. I embraced the peacefulness surrounding me. The patterned breathing of the horses in their stalls, a breeze blowing past my ear from the open doors, and the humming of the large lights above me. I didn't realize it was nearly half past eight when I had finished brushing out Avery.

Knowing the lockers were sure to be closed by now, I made my way towards the Stable Director's office, hoping she'd have the key to let me gather my stuff.

The director's office is situated at the top of a steep stairwell. This position gives the advantage of having a window to look into the arena and stalls. I had never been up here before, and I wasn't sure that she'd even be here now, but I'd rather check and have a chance to get to my locker.

Slowly making my way up the dark stairwell, I soon became aware of two mysterious voices as I approached the top landing. Curiosity arrested my attention and pulled me towards the ajar door. With nervous eyes, I peered in and what I saw was unlike anything I'd seen before.

A desk lamp shone down onto a prostrate figure on the floor. The figure was of a woman, bound at her ankles in a black silk material with her dark hair splayed all around. Black Stockings, black suspenders, and pink panties adorned her bottom half. Suddenly, a shadowed figure moved to the side of the prostrate woman. From what I could make out, the standing figure was a woman also, judging by the shape of her legs and choice of footwear, black stilettos.

Then voices sounded

"Have you misbehaved, miss?" Chills coursed through my body as the shadowed woman spoke. The prostrate woman was about to speak when an object, a riding crop it seemed, was smoothed down her spine. Her back arched into the quarter-inch of material causing her to lose all capability so speak. Then it happened.

The riding crop disappeared and reappeared with a snap against the rosy bottom of the prostrated woman. She bucked forward with a cry, turning her bottom into the air. The leather object was once again caressing the woman's bare backside when the shadowed figure spoke once more.

"I asked you. Have. You. Misbehaved?" Fiery ice is the only way to describe her commanding voice. It stirred in me something I had never felt before. It was power and passion. It was control and need.

I looked down in my hands and realized that my fingers were curling too tightly around my own riding crop. My breath was ragged and slow breathing out. I could nearly hear my heart pounding and heat coursing through my veins. A strange heating sensation in my lower abodomen began as the snap of the riding crop against the skin occurred once more in the next room.

"Yes, Mistress!" a strangled female voice cried out in a mix of pleasure and pain.

Then it began the rhythmic snapping and crying.

At first, the shadowed figure would gracefully dance the square tip around the back, as if counting to a certain number, before gently tapping the tip against a buttox.

"Tell me." She'd sharply declare before snapping the black object against the buttock.

The prostrate woman would cry out in a painfully euphoric moan, but give no direct reply.

It continued on for five more minutes, and I found myself painfully gripping my own riding crop as the coiling in my lower stomach continued. Leaning against the wall outside the door, my legs started to quiver and the intensity in my abdomen consumed me. I could only compare it to pleasurable cramping that only kept building up. Feeling flush, I took one more look in the room.

The prostrate woman was now sitting up on her knees with her back towards me, her ankles still bound, and her bottom was red beyond compare. Long black curls fell down across her back. The shadowed figure moved into my line of sight and bent at her knees. Though I could not see what was happenening, I observed the noticeable difference of the previously shadowed figure.

Her legs were bare, but she wore an intricate black lace corset and panties that matched her deadly shoes. The style of her hair seemed to be done and up…out of the way. She was very put together and was not going to let it be ruined.

Then she stood up, slowly walked around and admired her work. Black silk ties now bound the submissive woman's wrists and one seemed to cover her eyes.

"Are you ready, miss?" The domineering voice asked sharply.

"Yes, mistress." A lustful voice replied.

I saw the heels move closer to where I was and I hid in the darkened corner a half meter away, hoping I hadn't been caught. My heart was nearly beating out of my chest. And the clicking sounded closer, I was sure I was caught. Any moment she would peek her head out of the doorway and I'd be done for.

The clicking stopped for a moment, I waited and attempted to hide myself as much as I could, but no head peeked out nor did any voice call out. Instead, the creaking and locking of the door shutting sent sudden relief over my soul.

I stood up and quietly descended the steps before I could even begin to assess what just occurred. Completely forgetting about my locker, I broke out into the fastest sprint for my dormitory hall. The only thing I consciously registered about my physical state was that the coiling in my abdomen had just seemed to melt away, leaving some sort of positive pressure in between my hips.

As I made my way up the stairs to the fourth floor, my mind was still racing, trying to comprehend the last fifteen minutes or so. Thankfully I left my door unlocked, though it's normally the most idiotic mistake I could make, tonight it was helpful.

I stripped off my boots, pants, and shirt. They felt hot and grimy. It was not pleasant. Staring at my reflection in the full length mirror, I realized that in my boring white panties and push up bra, that I was nothing more than an inexperienced and desperate little girl.

**Again, I know there is always room for more improvement. Also I'd never written a scene like this before...ever.**

**So this is new for me. **


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